


Invalid Address (Don't Lose That Number Remix)

by lilacsigil



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Bodyswap, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-30
Updated: 2007-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-09 11:45:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacsigil/pseuds/lilacsigil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Frost is less than pleased at an X-Men recruitment attempt, especially when her routine eavesdropping attempt goes terribly wrong. Scott never did work out how Emma had his number.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invalid Address (Don't Lose That Number Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Invalid Address](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/757) by Sionnain. 



_From: J.Grey@xavier.edu  
To: S.Summers@xavier.edu  
Subject: Phone message_

Emma Frost called for you. Again. On your cell phone.

-Jean

From: S.Summers@xavier.edu  
To: J.Grey@xavier.edu  
Subject: Re: Phone Message

I have no idea how she got that number. Maybe she called the mansion and one of the kids gave it to her.

\--Scott

From: J.Grey@xavier.edu  
To: S.Summers@xavier.edu  
Subject: Phone message

I'm sure that's it.

\--Jean

From: S.Summers@xavier.edu  
To: J.Grey@xavier.edu  
Subject: Re: Re: Phone Message

She IS a telepath. I mean. If she really wanted my number, she could get it. Without me giving it to her.

Not that I want her to have it. Because I don't.

\--Scott

 

Emma Frost, graduate of Empire State University, sole heir to the Frost fortune, first-time member of the Forbes 100 Most Powerful Women list, White Queen of the Hellfire Club, was thoroughly perplexed.

"You want me to move in with you, Scott? Darling, we've hardly met."

The elegant woman with the astounding white hair didn't look in the least perturbed, but it was highly entertaining to watch the neck of the over-dressed man flush to match his peculiar glasses.

"That's not what Ororo and I are saying, Miss Frost."

"Call me Emma, please."

"Emma it is. Professor Xavier said that he'd spoken to you previously about the school."

Ororo leaned forward, the faint scent of jasmine and – was that ozone? – floating from the open neck of her shirt. "The number of students is increasing rapidly, and you are a mutant with a degree in education. You seem like the ideal person to augment our rather overloaded staff."

Emma raised a pale eyebrow. "I understand your proposal perfectly, Ororo. Your school is a live-in boarding school in New York. You want me to live there. With you, and Mr Summers, and Charles Xavier, and any other mutants foolish enough to fall for your isolationist spiel."

"We're not isolationists." Scott's handsome jaw clenched, a reaction quite out of proportion to his verbal response. "We're protecting teenagers, many of whom have been cast out by their families or are on the run, and making sure they have an education and skills to survive in a world that is hostile to people who are different." A face and name flashed through his mind, a confused and angry tangle of betrayal and argument. Emma was surprised to find that she knew the face, if not the name. "Mr Lehnsherr" was an older man she had seen on campus several times in her last year of college, lurking at the edge of both pro- and anti-mutant protests, observing the harder elements among the brightly dressed students. Emma had noticed him because she'd been doing the same thing, and because his mind was so relentlessly closed, almost impossible to read. Scott Summers and Ororo Munroe certainly knew some interesting people, and Emma wasn't sure whether she was flattered or concerned to be on that list.

"I don't feel that the world has been particularly hostile to me," Emma said with a faint smile, gesturing at her expensively furnished office with her expensively manicured hand.

Something flickered across Ororo's face that might have been contempt. "And how do you think that would change if you were known to be a mutant? A telepath, at that? You might not have quite so many friends, and you certainly wouldn't be making contracts on such…favorable terms. I hear that you prefer to conduct all your business in person."

"I can't imagine what you might be inferring." Emma's voice was light, and she ignored Ororo's frown to smile across at Scott. "There's nothing wrong with a little old-fashioned politeness. Conference calls are so alienating."

"We're not suggesting that we're going to out you as a mutant," Scott replied. With his eyes masked, it was hard to tell if his gaze was on Emma or not, but the slight easing of his posture suggested to Emma that it most certainly was. She kept her smile turned on, and pushed her chair back a fraction, giving him a better look at her fabulous body in her short-skirted business suit.

"I should hope not. Threats are hardly going to encourage mutant solidarity, are they?"

"All I'm saying is that we need to stick together. If you ever need any help – or if you want to help – you know where to call."

"I should call your Professor? Not you?" Emma was openly grinning now, mostly at the other woman's openly annoyed expression. There didn't seem to be sexual tension between Emma's two visitors – Ororo wasn't annoyed because Emma was stealing her man, but she was certainly intent on keeping Scott's attention off Emma's body.

Ororo stood up abruptly. "I think the house line would be the easiest way to ensure you get through to someone who can help. And you have that number already."

Scott followed her move, a long second later, and reached across the desk to shake Emma's outstretched hand.

"It's been a pleasure, Scott."

Ororo and Scott departed at some speed, Ororo's boots tapping firmly on the polished floor, and Emma settled back in her chair, pressing her fingers against her eyes. She found that her telepathy was at its best in a quiet environment, preferably after meditation, but her sound-proofed office and closed eyes would do.

 

Her visitors were taking the elevator back to the parking lot, and neither of them were happy. Both had the image of a tall, red-haired woman firmly to the front of their minds – her name was Jean – and both were angry with each other.

"I wasn't ogling her, Ororo, I was being polite."

"Very polite indeed, especially when she started flirting with you."

"I didn't do anything I wouldn't do in front of Jean." Jean was his girlfriend, then, and Ororo's friend, and this was not a situation that Ororo was used to encountering. She expected Scott to be entirely loyal to Jean – to the point of emasculation, Emma added, then had to remind herself to stop editorializing and pay attention. She didn't know what they knew about her, after all, or even how they had found her. Emma liked to be the one setting surprises, not receiving them, and the idea of a whole community suddenly popping up out of nowhere and telling her that they expected her to be a good girl and play by their rules was more than a little unpleasant.

Ororo didn't sound convinced of Scott's pure intentions. "We should have brought Jean, then. She could have served two purposes."

"What, a telepath, and a moral guardian, too? She's at the hospital today, anyway, probably trying to catch a few minutes sleep before her pager goes off again."

"I'm just saying, I don't like being around a telepath without another telepath keeping watch. Especially with you behaving so weirdly."

"I'm not – look, Emma Frost is attractive, yes, but she's not even my type."

Emma smirked at that. As far as she could tell, she was everyone's type – and Scott was no exception. Ororo seemed somewhat consoled by his admission, though, and they proceeded through the lobby and out of the building without further debate.

Pressing at her eyes with the heels of her hands to block out all vision, Emma concentrated harder. She wanted to know how they had found her before they went outside her rather variable range, but they were so focused on Scott's alleged misdemeanor and whether or not this Jean woman would care that they weren't thinking about Emma at all. Deeply frustrated – what was the point of looking and acting as she did if everyone forgot about her in five minutes flat? – Emma pushed a little further, trying to find the underlying reason for Charles Xavier's call, and Scott and Ororo's visit. It must be somewhere in their recent thoughts, surely.

Out in the parking lot, Ororo stopped still and put a hand on Scott's arm.

"Do you feel it? Something's wrong." Ororo's voice dropped low. "I think she's scanning us."

"Take care of it, then." Scott took a long step back from Ororo.

Emma had a moment to wonder what on earth a non-telepath could do to a telepath, then, with the sharp crackle of static electricity, her world exploded in light.

 

It was very bright, and Emma stumbled forward under the unexpected onslaught of sunlight, but a strong arm caught her.

"Are you okay? Did you block her?" Scott's voice was surprisingly calm as he supported Emma, stopping her from tumbling forward onto the rough asphalt of the parking lot. Emma blinked, hard. She was outside, but a moment ago, she'd been in her office. She'd certainly never been teleported before, but whatever Ororo had done seemed to have disrupted the telepathic link effectively – Emma couldn't feel anyone around her at all, not even Scott, who was right beside her. She glanced down, just to check that Ororo had transported all her limbs in the right order, but nearly toppled over again, this time in shock.

She was wearing Ororo's loose cream-colored shirt and flowing skirt, not to mention her tall leather boots, which were decidedly last-season. But it was the glimpse of her hand that had left Emma reeling – it was Ororo's smooth-skinned, brown hand, not her own pale fingers and French polished nails. Long white – not blonde – hair flicked around the edge of Emma's vision as she quickly looked herself over, horrified at this different body, and at the sudden feeling of being a very small creature in a very large world. She could feel so far – clouds, tiny shifts of air, the shiver of moisture far away, as if it were right on top of her, touching her skin. Emma did not like to feel insignificant. She had spent a great deal of her life making quite sure that she wasn't, and something in Ororo's perception of the world was deeply unsettling. Emma had no idea why she had been put into Ororo's body, but she had a damn good idea where Ororo must be.

"I've got to go back in, Scott, I forgot – " Emma didn't manage to finish her sentence before shaking free of Scott's helping hand and walking quickly back into the lobby, with Scott not far behind. The moment that she was through the doors, she felt a little more in control, as if her world had shrunk back to normal size, or she'd grown to fit her environment. The two security guards at the desk got to their feet as she hurried in, but it was Scott that they stopped, not her. Emma was too focused on getting to the elevator and her office to take this as anything more than a stroke of good luck, and quickly vanished into the elevator, punching in her executive code so that it rocketed straight to her floor, without stopping.

Much to Emma's horror, Ororo was sitting at Emma's desk, in Emma's body, rifling through Emma's desk as if she belonged there.

"Condoms in your office desk. Very classy!" Ororo commented, her voice sounding high and thin.

Emma wondered if she really sounded so girly, then strode across the room and slammed a hand on the desk. "Get the hell out of my body and put me back! You won't find any secrets in there."

"Oh no?" Ororo held up a half-packet of cigarettes, which had been safely hidden at the back of the top drawer, where only Emma's arm was thin enough to reach.

"Put those down! Do you do this all the time? Try to recruit people, then bodysnatch them when they won't cooperate?"

"Me? You're the one who tells us how wonderful your life is, and how much you don't need other mutants, then tries to scoop my brain out of my head!"

"Don't be ridiculous. I was just trying to scan your thoughts."

"I knew you were." Ororo got out of the chair and drew herself up to Emma's full height, which, Emma had to admit, was not as impressive as it sounded. "I just defended myself from you with a static charge. I control weather, not minds."

"Our powers must have interacted." Emma glared at Ororo across the desk. "I don't know how, but you have to fix this. I'm not going back to New York and teaching school, and you're certainly not going to run my company."

"Oh, I don't know, I'm feeling rather tempted to just ring up and start selling off your stock," Ororo muttered, but she wasn't looking so threatening now. "I don't know how to change it back."

"You connect us with my telepathy, and I'll make the static shock," Emma offered, but Ororo grabbed her wrist with great alarm.

"No, don't do that. My powers took a long, long time to control, and they're very difficult to work with. I've worked with telepaths, though. I think I can link up our minds, at least at a superficial level."

Emma would never admit it, but she was relieved that she didn't have to reach out with those terrifying senses that flowed out of her, unending, into the atmosphere. She felt Ororo make the telepathic connection, quite roughly, and pushed those thoughts out of her head, where Ororo couldn't find them.

"So, now what? We stick our fingers in a socket?"

"I've got a better idea. It was the intense connection that swapped us over, I think, and it should be much easier to go back to where we should be. We could either wait a few days and see if this resolves on its own, or –"

"I'm already choosing the other option."

"We could give both bodies a jolt. If we shake things up enough, we should just switch back."

"But you said we shouldn't – oh." Emma suddenly caught on. "Do you actually know that, or are you just trying to have your way with me?"

Ororo laughed. "So old-fashioned! No, I do have some evidence. Jean, who is a much stronger telepath than you, by the way, accidentally linked herself to everyone in the house once, a few years ago. I was having a big teenage rebellion at the time, and when the Professor told us to just do what we'd normally do, I took him at his word and carried on reading a book Jean had lent me. It was…well, it was erotica. Porn, really. When I'd, well, finished reading, I'd completely blown out the link."

Emma wasn't going to be the one who backed out, but she wasn't entirely convinced, either. "I hope this isn't just some kind of show for your friend Scott."

"No, I had your security guys give him a message. He knows I'm taking care of it, but I didn't tell him how."

"Well, then." Emma felt suddenly shy, in the bright lights of her office. She'd had sex in here before, but she'd been in control then, not stuck in another woman's body, and certainly not propositioned by someone in her own body.

"I know what I like, and you know what you like," Ororo said, stalking around the desk towards Emma, and Emma felt entirely trapped in the laser gaze of her own blue eyes.

Ororo slid her small hands underneath the loose shirt that Emma was wearing and slid it smoothly off over her head, then neatly undid the bra that had been underneath, and rubbed a thumb across the nipple that she had exposed. Emma shivered – her own nipples were not as sensitive, and this feeling was both overwhelming and arousing. When would she have this opportunity again? Reaching forward as Ororo gently circled fingers around her super-sensitive nipples, Emma quickly unhooked and unzipped the short white skirt that Ororo now wore, and Ororo stepped out of it, leaving Emma free to tuck a thumb into Ororo's tiny, lacy panties and slide them down. Ororo walked Emma backwards to the large white sofa that filled one corner of the office, neatly avoiding the nearby coffee table, and tipped her backwards onto it.

Emma grabbed the back of the couch with one hand, Ororo's body demanding that she stretch out, and traced her other hand from Ororo's navel down to her warm, wet crotch, feeling strangely powerful as she knew exactly where to touch, moving a finger in firm, deliberate circles around her clitoris, pressing hard but never directly. Emma was sweating profusely as Ororo bent her mouth to one nipple, flicking her tongue over it lightly and confidently, her other hand busy with two fingers penetrating and her thumb working hard. Emma usually took much, much longer to find her rhythm and work herself to orgasm, but with Ororo's long, muscled body on hers, knowing exactly what to do, both she and Ororo rocked together into a frenzy of touch. When Ororo tilted her head up and kissed Emma on the soft place at the base of her throat, both of them shuddered into a burst of white light.

Emma rolled off Ororo, off the couch, and landed with an undignified thump on the floor. She was half-naked, drenched in sweat, and still shivering in little bursts, all over her body – her own body. Ororo peeled herself off the couch and pulled her shirt back on, leaving her bra on the floor where it lay.

"I'm still not going to your school," Emma said, looking up at Ororo as she dressed.

"I didn't ask you do. I think you're a manipulative, selfish woman who wouldn't know a genuine offer of friendship if it bit you." Ororo grabbed a pen from Emma's desk and scribbled something on her monogrammed notepaper.

"Is that your number?"

"No! I'm not getting any closer to you than I have to. It's Scott's number – you may not be a good person, but he is. If you're ever in real trouble, call him." Ororo loomed over Emma, who was still sitting on the floor. "But don't call me."

Ororo strode out of the office, her skirt flying around her like a thundercloud, and Emma got to her feet, trying to tug her stockings back up, to no avail. Who did Ororo think she was, to be so close to Emma then walk out on her as if they had shared nothing? Emma lived on the connections she made with others – at college, in the business world – and certainly didn't need a bunch of mutant school teachers dogging her footsteps. She ripped the phone number off the notepad and held it for a moment. Really, Ororo had all but asked her to call Scott – it was hardly Emma's fault if her version of "trouble" was a little different to theirs.

Emma smiled. New friends were always her favorite kind.


End file.
